


The space between flowers and bombs

by sunshine_kitcat (moonkevin)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Extended Metaphors, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, bc hes mine too, shotaro as sungchans emotional support kpop boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkevin/pseuds/sunshine_kitcat
Summary: Flowerbomb - Wanna One(Note: In korean, the word for firework can be literally translated as Flower and Bomb, so keep that in mind for some of the metaphors here)For cindy, because you’re a bitch.
Relationships: Jung Sungchan/Osaki Shotaro
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	The space between flowers and bombs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyzuli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyzuli/gifts).



> Flowerbomb - Wanna One
> 
> (Note: In korean, the word for firework can be literally translated as Flower and Bomb, so keep that in mind for some of the metaphors here)
> 
> For cindy, because you’re a bitch.

_ Burn the last flower for me. _

Some days, Sungchan feels like a firework whose fuse has been cut off. Uncontrollable energy rests at the tip of his fidgety hands, just waiting to explode and do something with himself. He feels like a traveller who has no idea where they’re headed, willingly shackled onto a wagon going every which way.

He’s long lost his original intent, endless days spent working his body and voice into a carbon copy of public ideal grating at the fragile bite of hope like a rock on a delicate flower petal. He finds debut is no longer a goal, only a worn comment on the tip of his tongue to say when asked by the faceless and voiceless figures that drown him everyday. The practice room he once called home becomes cold, nothing but a stepping stone towards a finish line that no longer exists.

Sungchan supposes this is what Jungwoo warned him of, the night before he left to become a busy idol. They’ve been trainees for god knows how long, both lumps of clay for the company to mold and bend into the perfect puppets for teenage girls and public scrutiny to obsess over. He had hoped it would get better when debut came.

The thing they don’t tell you is that, in reality, nothing changes.

Sungchan finds himself every bit the lost traveller in NCT he used to be as a trainee, except now he’s surrounded by closed doors and inside jokes he’ll never truly understand. The members are welcoming, sure, but they can’t help it. It’s impossible to really work around it, really.

The upside, at least, is that Sungchan discovers a partner for the road. Shotaro is the mirror of himself years ago, unburdened by the exhaustion and listlessness that comes with years of training. Sungchan’s been told Shotaro is used to it, having grown up in this business since he was little. He enjoys the stage, enjoys performing and the endless hours that go into it in a way Sungchan can never dream to have.

And yet, somehow, Shotaro finds a way to catch the slipping dream that flows between Sungchan’s fingers like a waterfall, gently raising it back up to Sungchan through hushed encouragement and joy-filled half-moon eyesmiles. Sungchan finds himself drawn to Shotaro like a moth drawn to light, stepping out of his endless downpour to seek refuge under the bright red umbrella called passion.

Shotaro debuts first, but Sungchan doesn’t find himself jealous of the instant attention Shotaro garners. It’s only natural, really, when one takes a moment to consider Shotaro in his entirety. Perfect to a fault, Sungchan finds himself melting into the pattern of following Shotaro’s every moment.

Sungchan wakes up to a tired Shotaro returning to the dorms after practice or promotions, offering him wordless head pats and offering to buy him food when both know they can’t afford it. He goes to bed to a half-asleep Shotaro standing by his door with a blanket over his shoulders and a quiet question on his lips. He sleeps to the thought of Shotaro, the first face he recognizes in the endless field of people who file in and out of his day like running water.

Comfort, he thinks, exists only between the space of listlessness and exhaustion, where Sungchan’s quiet worries melt with Shotaro’s blissfully unaware tiredness, nestled in the corner where their breaths mingle and their legs tangle under sheets too small for them.

Sungchan finds himself swept away by the flood of debut all too soon, the project whipping past his lost eyes like a hurricane suddenly tearing apart Sungchan’s chains and stealing him from the wagon. He lands in an endless jungle of cameras and stage rehearsals, trying to click into this team of clumsily clashing personalities. There’s a clear divide, he finds, between the two groups of friends, no matter how much they try to pretend on camera. Ten put it best, when he finds Sungchan quietly trying to insert himself into the predetermined dynamic.

“You won’t fit in. As terrible as it sounds, it’s true. Some things just don’t work out, but we have to pretend. Become the pretty flowers the public wants.

Sungchan contemplates burning the flowers, reverting back into his old, familiar life patterns. Contemplates abandoning the carefully crafted personality and image for himself and becoming the awkward, insecure and lost teenager he never grew out of.

Taeyong is the first to find him in this state, reaching out with a knowing pair of arms and offering lyrics for Sungchan’s empty heart. To find direction, Taeyong says. To find yourself.

So Sungchan finds himself in the same limbo as before, tethering between the blurry line of satisfaction and frustration. He writes and writes, spilling words through his pen onto stained papers like a flood trickling through a tiny bamboo shaft. The hurricane settles, tossing him around for one last time as it takes every last bit of sanity Sungchan’s managed to salvage.

And as before, Shotaro is there to pick up the pieces, picking up the bits and pieces of debris to reassemble one Sungchan-shaped human. He offers Sungchan the same comfortable space again, existing strictly between the line of idol and broken. He tells Sungchan of a Japanese proverb, ‘three years on a rock’, meaning that if one sits on a rock for three years, it will eventually get warm. Things will get better, and brighter days will come.

Shotaro offers Sungchan the pieces of debris leftover from the hurricane with meaning in his eyes, both an offer of help and a silent command to pick them up himself. Sungchan complies, every bit the listless traveller he’s always been. The firework builds in the back of his mind, growing more and more explosive with every passing second he spends trying to carve out a space in his downpour for Shotaro’s pretty red umbrella.

He finds warmth for the first time in the buzz of award show season, finally pulled out of the endless lands of broken and entering the idol-scape. It feels surreal, rekindling a long lost flame Sungchan had long lost. Shotaro holds his hand when the new year counts down, a quiet and meaningful smile on his face as he offers Sungchan a flower.

The flower was called hope, and hope carried Sungchan into the new year. He would get better, finally warming up that cursed rock that won’t stop being cold. The pieces of debris click into place, finally painting out an endless garden as Sungchan dares to plant the flower that will soon spread beauty in his frozen heart.

He gets better in the end, the smile on his face less painful to plaster on and the rehearsed comments finally feeling less of a pineapple to swallow and more of a sweet strawberry. The flower he plants in his garden of hope blooms, becoming a beautiful tree as it lends its gentle branches to give Sungchan structure. He finds stability in the downpour, pulling out his new green umbrella of hope to hold high over his head, daring to believe good times were coming.

The thing is, every flower wilts.

And Sungchan, to no one’s surprise, is no different,

He fires off his firework, wishing for an explosion of flowery colours and words, like the perfect movie scene as he finally becomes the person he wants to be. But a small prick stays insistent in the pit of Sungchan’s stomach, just like the cold sting of a supposedly happy night.

They’re hosting a party, celebrating all of the February birthdays in one go. There’s happiness and laughter, everyone contributing a bit of light into the dark puzzle piece that makes up Sungchan’s brain. He finds himself recognizing the faces around him for the first time, associating the person with a figure as he clings onto his tiny umbrella.

It’s much too small for Sungchan, barely wide enough to cover his towering and grand figure. The space that was supposed to be his quickly evaporated with every new face he’s decided to learn. But Shotaro said he needed to fix himself. Needed to finally see the world.

And so he endures the pain, watches as the garden burns down as hope becomes the ashes that drag him back into listlessness. Shotaro finds him, reaching out to pull Sungchan out of the hopeless spiral. But for the first time, his touch burns to Sungchan, digging up every traitorous pin and needle in Sungchan’s body. He feels much too warm, lit on fire by the bright red umbrella Shotaro initially offered him. The firework burns in his brain, too explosive and powerful to be contained in its tiny paper wrapper.

So Shotaro gives him a lighter instead, a tiny spark of fire to warm up his cold rock and roaring downpour. He says but one thing, whispered between the lines of friendship and love.

“Burn the last flower. For me?” Shotaro asked.

And Sungchan is nothing more than a puppet. He burns the flowers, watching as the fireworks explode in the sky and fill his world with colour. It’s warm again, much too hot and suffocating as noise fills Sungchan’s senses. But this time, something is different.

This time, Shotaro is there to catch him, to steer him down the right path and follow the fireworks. His arms are warm, wrapped around Sungchan’s midsection as he warms up Sungchan’s soaked bones. His skin is cool against the backdrop of fire in Sungchan’s mind. He doesn’t overwhelm, existing perfectly in the space between hot and cold. The firework in Sungchan’s heart explodes, ricocheting off of the walls and blooming in the sky.

And at that moment, he loses all sense of boundary.

He crosses the lines, reaching out past listlessness and exhaustion, past idol and broken, past friendship and love. Past the space of comfort and tug of hope, past the red and green umbrellas, past the screaming hurricane and deathly quiet garden. Past the exploding flowers behind him and the torrential downpour in front of him, residing perfectly in the space between Shotaro’s two arms.

He remembers the cold sting of the empty practice room and the bland taste of a too-smooth debut. He remembers the smell of Shotaro’s hair, tousled and imperfect as it rests against his keen nose. He remembers the sound of Shotaro’s quiet voice on the booming backdrop of twenty one other rambunctious boys. He remembers the sight of Shotaro’s bright flower bomb, rising high into the sky as he pulls Sungchan in and—

“Stop thinking,” Shotaro chides. Sungchan smiles slightly, tiptoeing the line between sheepish and cheeky.

“Even if it’s about you?” Sungchan counters. Shotaro just hums, abandoning all bouts of clumsy Korean and sharp Japanese Sungchan doesn’t fully understand as he grips the front of Sungchan’s shirt and pulls him in.

The winds pick up again, except the rain is gone and it’s replaced by bright sunshine. Sungchan feels just the right amount of warmth in between the taste of Shotaro’s slightly chapped lips and the sound of his cute giggles. His firework vibrates the floor under Sungchan’s feet, threatening to crumble at any moment. The lines of the sculpted Sungchan-puppet and the real, shattered Sungchan disappear, breaking open like a dam as he’s swept away into the vast inbetween.

And like the drastic change between the definition of flowers and bombs, Sungchan explodes like a firework, filled to the brim with a new kind of emotion.

Content.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame my friend cindy for this she said sungchan is literally a trainee who’s probably tired and relieved to finally debut and that shotaro is his emotional support kpop boy who brings light into hs life and i couldnt just Stop Thinking abt it yknow so i spent 30 minutes to just word vomit . Hope u liked it.
> 
> Find me on twt: @heonynchans


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